


You're All I Want for Christmas

by spikesgirl58



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-12
Updated: 2015-12-12
Packaged: 2018-05-06 09:42:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5412065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikesgirl58/pseuds/spikesgirl58
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the trail of a THRUSH agent, Napoleon and Illya somehow end up at the THRUSH NY Christmas Party.   And it really isn't Illya's fault that he looks so good dressed as a Christmas elf...</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're All I Want for Christmas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [engmaresh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/engmaresh/gifts).



_I’m dreaming of a white Christmas,_ the radio was crooning as Napoleon struggled into his apartment.  His arms ached from the bags he carried, his feet and back grumbled about the abuse they’d been put through. Meanwhile Napoleon’s wallet had crawled into a nearby corner to whimper in pain.

“Whoever waxes poetic over a white Christmas should be shot.” He resisted the impulse to just drop things, as breakable items would only have to be replaced.  Napoleon set them aside and opened his overcoat to the warmth of the apartment.

“Sounds like you got up on the wrong side of the desk.” Illya looked up from the couch.  He’d built a fire in Napoleon’s fireplace and had been reading.  He rose and stretched, then approached Napoleon, sliding his arms around his partner’s waist and pulling him in for a long lip-bruising kiss.

“Well, I have to admit, that helps improve my mood considerably.” He followed Illya’s skyward look and spotted the mistletoe, one of a multitude of sprigs hanging around the apartment.  There were also a partially decorated tree and a large pot on the stove.  Napoleon’s stomach growled in happy anticipation of what might be inside that pot.  “You’ve been busy.”

Illya laughed. “Even better, Medical cleared me.  As of midnight, I am back on active duty.”

“That’s great news!” Napoleon fought his way out of his coat and muffler and hung them up to dry.  “It’s brutal out there,” he said by way of small talk and then gathered Illya back onto his arms.  While he was happy that Illya was recovering, Napoleon was just a little sad. 

Now that Illya was ready to head back to the trenches, he’d no doubt be going back to his own apartment. Napoleon had used Illya’s recovery as a way of moving the Russian into the spare bedroom.  Bit by bit, more and more of Illya’s possessions found their way over to Napoleon’s – clothes and books, then records and more clothes and more books – in the past few weeks.  Illya’s apartment was now empty of nearly everything Illya owned, aside from a ratty sofa, a battered coffee table and a twin bed which had seen better days prior to Illya’s finding it beneath a ‘Free’ sign on a street corner.

If Illya detected any sadness in Napoleon’s demeanor, it didn’t show. If anything, the man was more up than Napoleon had seen him in a long time.  It had been a lengthy recovery, more from a cautionary stance from Medical than Illya’s actual need to heal.  The lack of field work was starting to take a toll upon those around HQ as Illya grew more and more aggressive from pent-up energy.  Apparently, Waverly had finally decided it was safer for everyone involved to release Illya back into the wild.

And wild the man was.

                                                                                ****

It was late when Napoleon crept into his apartment. The mission had gone reasonably well in that THRUSH was again on the run and no UNCLE agents had been harmed, but Napoleon missed having Illya at his side.

Illya was an extension of himself – when he was with his partner, there was no need for words; Illya just knew what Napoleon needed done. How he’d lived so long before Illya’s arrival was anyone’s guess.

That partnership had grown into a friendship and then slowly evolved into something much more. The first time they’d had sex, it was just that - sex for the expressed desire of the act itself.  It wasn’t until the next morning when Napoleon woke, looked at the sleep softened face of Illya and realized that, for the first time in his life, he didn’t have to hide.  Rarely did he spend the night with a woman, preferring to slip out under the cover of dark.

“Penny for your thoughts,” Illya murmured, surprising Napoleon.

“I didn’t know you were awake.”

“That depends upon you. If you are intending to get dressed and leave, then I’m still asleep.  If your intention is more sex, then I can assure you that I am very awake.”  The erection Illya sported more than spoke for itself.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

And he hadn’t. The two of them spent the day in bed, their lovemaking become more than the night before.  Napoleon had been amazed at Illya’s stamina and inventiveness… in fact, he was just thinking of that when something caught him and shoved him to the bed.

Reflex should have made him fight back, but he knew that he was in his own apartment. The only other person there was Illya and that the likelihood that his partner would do him bodily harm was fairly remote.

“Friend or foe,” he managed before a pair of lips crushed against his own. Napoleon could feel Illya’s erection pressing against him through his suit.  A tongue sought his and Napoleon willingly opened his mouth, letting that restless tongue map every inch before returning the favor.  His clothes were being systematically removed and Napoleon wasn’t above helping.  In fact, his erection butted against its confines, struggling to burst out.

Napoleon pulled away, gasping. Illya’s eyes were feral, narrowed and full of intent.  “Let me,” Napoleon murmured, making sure that he didn’t catch himself in the zipper.

His penis tumbled out and Illya’s hands were on it, stroking and fondling it. A moment later, his mouth followed.  He straddled Napoleon, his own penis just inches from Napoleon’s mouth.  Napoleon wiggled slightly to get a better angle and pulled Illya down.

It took him a moment to tackle his gag reflex, but just a moment. Then he was in heaven, sucking and moaning, even as Illya was doing the same. 

Fingers went exploring as they rolled to one side, finding sensitive nooks and crannies to explore.   Napoleon was a bit concerned when Illya’s thumb pressed again his anus, but it slipped right in and Napoleon realized Illya had been very prepared for this.

For the moment, there was nothing but the guttural sounds both men were making, determined to bring the other to climax first.

Napoleon was fairly sure he had the advantage and then he realized Illya’s thumb was gone and was abruptly replaced by a well-lubricated dildo. Through experience, Illya angled it just right and Napoleon was beyond help.  All he could do was hold on and pray for a merciful deliverance.  When he did climax, it felt as if it went on forever, even though he knew better.

As he began to calm, he realized there was a sore taste in his mouth. In the middle of all of this, Illya had climaxed as well and Napoleon hadn’t even realized it.

“Sorry,” he murmured the first chance he got.

“Nothing to apologize for.” Illya’s voice was sleepy, a sure sign that he’d been satisfied.

“So, I take it that you are healthy enough to resume normal sexual activities?”

“I only hope you are up to it.”

 

                                                                                ****

Napoleon smiled at that thought. It would be lonely to not wake up to Illya next to him.  He would miss the showers and playful interludes between the usual day-to-day chores.  Illya’s voice startled him from his reverie.

“Is it really bad out?” Illya went to the balcony window and pulled back the curtain to look out.  The penthouse, a gift from Napoleon’s Aunt Amy, afforded a beautiful view of the city, but tonight the horizon ended just feet away in a blaze of white.  “Wow, it wasn’t even snowing when I left HQ.”  He checked his watch.  “But that was a few hours ago.  I can’t believe I haven’t looked out the window since getting home.”

Napoleon squashed a twinge in his heart. This was a home now.  Up to this point, it had just been a place to hang his hat and park his shoes.  To mask that feeling he made his way into the kitchen and tested the stew.  “This is great, Illya.  Your own recipe?”

“No, I got it from one of your recipe books.” Illya had never been much of a cook, but as Napoleon knew, living by yourself took its toll on many things, including cooking.

Napoleon tried to cook as often as he could, but there just weren’t the opportunities. He seldom brought a date home, unless it was one of his fellow employees and nine times out of ten, the date was over long before they got to that stage.  Yet since Illya had moved in, Napoleon found more and more excuses to fire up the stove and try his hand at this or that.  It didn’t hurt that Illya was an enthusiastic eater and relished everything Napoleon made for him. 

Now Illya was trying his hand and proving that, as with many other things in his life, he was accomplished at it.

“It’s pretty easy, actually. It’s like chemistry, you just follow the formula,” Illya was saying as he let the curtain drop.

“Well, you say easy, I say delicious. Let me change and we can eat.”  His lips curled into a devilish smile “And then who knows what might be for dessert?”

                                                                                *****

Napoleon stretched and looked at his watch. It was still a few minutes before the alarm, so he had the luxury of slowly waking up.  A bundle of heat to his left told him that Illya was still there and asleep.  Considering their lovemaking from the night before, it would be a miracle if either of them could even walk today.

“Hey, partner, rise and shine.” Illya plopped over on his back with a moan, his morning erection tenting the blankets. “Well, one out of two isn’t bad.  You’re back to work today.”

“I think I’m going to call in sick.”

Napoleon knew the man was kidding, but even so, he nuzzled the sleep-mussed hair until he found an ear. “You do that and I’ll send you back for Medical evaluation.  You won’t see the field until after the new year.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” The words lacked bite.

“Try me,” Napoleon whispered, while savoring the feel of Illya’s hair against his cheek.

“Can’t. I have to get ready for work.”

It felt good to walk into HQ with Illya at his side.   Del greeted them enthusiastically as they passed through and a handful of agents welcomed Illya back into the fray.  The good feeling ended when they walked into the office they shared. 

It was its usual stacks of files, old assignments, possible new ones, reviews and considerations for positions and promotions.

“What a mess!” Napoleon shook his head.  “What have you been doing?”

“I’ve been down in the labs, mostly.” Illya seemed equally dumbfounded.  “I figured you had this.”

“I thought you did. I’ve been out in the field for the most part.”  He walked carefully to his desk.  “I’ll start at this end and you start at the other.  When we meet, we’ll call it a day.”

The plan had its merits and for a few hours, they made good progress, but the problem with paperwork is the boredom factor.

“Segale blew up another car,” Illya said, his glasses clutched at the end of his nose. “That’s four this year.”

“He must be going for your record.” It didn’t pull Napoleon’s attention from the assignment folder he was scanning.  He tossed it aside for filing and started on another one.

“Do we formerly address this?”

“I think it would be more profitable if we give him his own vehicle. He’ll be less likely to blow up something of his own.  Wait until his annual review and then proceed.  I’ll run it past Mr. Waverly in the meantime.”

“Run what pass me, Mr. Solo?”

Both men had been so intent upon their work that neither had heard the entrance of their boss. Judging from the look of pride on the old man’s face, it was the best thing that they could have done.

Napoleon came to his feet, stopping just short of saluting. Old military habits died hard.  Illya had also risen, favoring one side.

“I had been told that you were field certified, Mr. Kuryakin. Was I misinformed?”

“No, sir, my foot just went to sleep.” Whether it was a lie or the truth, Napoleon couldn’t tell.

“That’s good because I have an assignment and I want the two of you on it.”

That made Napoleon’s ears prick up. An assignment that required UNCLE’s top agents would be a challenging one, indeed.  “Yes, sir,” Napoleon answered for both of them, trying not to sound too eager.  Anything was better than this paperwork.

 

“I should have known something was up by that twinkle in his eyes.” Napoleon blew on his hands for a moment.   The thin leather gloves he wore were stylish but useless against the cold.

“You’re just grumpy because your gloves are no good.” Illya’s gloves were bulky and unattractive, but it was apparent they were also very warm.  “Here, try mine for a few minutes.”

The stiffness in Napoleon’s fingers kept him from refusing. He pulled them on and smiled slightly.  “Thanks.”

“Not a problem.” Illya returned to staring at the hotel that they were parked across from.  The THRUSH official that they had been tailing disappeared inside over an hour earlier.  Now he seemed to be moving in a box pattern over the same coordinates.  “What do you suppose he’s doing?”

“The box step?” At Illya’s sore look, Napoleon grinned.  “No idea.  I wish we’d had the opportunity to do more than just stick a locator bug on him.”

“Should we go in?”

“Since he doesn’t seem to be coming out, I say we give it the once over and report in. Maybe Mr. Waverly has an idea.”

                                                                                ****

 

“What are you looking at?” Napoleon stage-whispered to his partner. The man seemed enraptured.

“Dessert. Look at all those desserts.”  Illya was fixated upon a long table covered with just about every holiday goodie known to mankind.  “Tell me again why we are at THRUSH’s Christmas party?”  Illya asked, not afraid of being overheard.

“Alcohol loosens lips and leads to slips, according to Mr. Waverly.” When they had reported to their boss that the THRUSH official was actually attending a Christmas party, Waverly had urged them to carefully infiltrate it.

“Say that three times drunk.” A THRUSH agent draped his arms over their shoulders, looking from one to the other with intoxicated glee.  “Who’s this Waverly guy?”

“Another name for Scrooge.” Illya removed the man’s arm.  “You are crushing my holly, sir.”

“You want me to take him out for you?” The THRUSH agent was very drunk.

Napoleon spit out a bit of fake white hair from his mouth. “Now, that’s no way to talk to Santa, friend.”  He refrained from adding the obligatory, ho, ho, ho.  “You might end up with coal in your stocking Christmas morning.”

“I’d rather end up in bed with her Christmas morning!” He pointed to a young woman wearing a micro miniskirt, despite the frigid temperatures outside the ballroom.  She teetered on her high heels and gave him a _come hither_ look.  He laughed and staggered away.

“I don’t think he’s going to be giving us any useful information tonight,” Illya said, rearranging his crown of fake holly. “Unless, of course, we want directions to the punch bowl.”

“Well, keep your ears open.” Napoleon stopped just short of making a joke.  Illya didn’t look at all happy were the green and red outfit or the large elf ears.  If Napoleon were to let go with a joke now, he suspected it would be a cold day in July before he got any more sex.  Instead, he pointed to a cluster of four THRUSH agents.  “You might want to check them out instead.  They look suitably serious and sober.”

Napoleon watched Illya walk away, his mood suitable for the holiday festivities. Truth of the matter was that Napoleon had had no idea their THRUSH tail would lead them here.  It had taken just minutes to convince the actors hired to play Santa and his helper to see things Napoleon’s way and hand over their costumes.  Granted Illya wasn’t the buxom blonde the costume had been intended for, but he certainly filled out the tights admirably.  Several THRUSH wives and female agents watched him progress with thinly disguised lust.  Napoleon knew the feeling.  He was just lucky that the Santa suit was extra baggy around the crotch.

“So, Santa, how are things going up at the North Pole?” Glenn Hatch, the Number Two man in THRUSH, was so close to Napoleon that he could easily smell the bourbon on the man’s breath.  Hatch gestured with the tumbler of amber liquor.  “What no ho, ho, hoing?”

“Well, don’t tell the wee ones, but the reindeer are striking for better hours.”

“Damn unions!”

“The female elves are demanding equal pay for equal work.”

“Damn feminists!”

“And Mrs. Claus is threatening to leave me if I don’t go on a diet.”

“Damn Weight Watchers.”

“Other than that, it’s business as usual.” Napoleon put a bit of distance between him and his enemy.  “Now what would you like Santa to bring you for Christmas this year, little boy?”

“Napoleon Solo’s head on a spike.”

Napoleon tried not to react. “That might prove difficult.”

“Tell me about it. I’ve been trying for years.  Okay, then bring me his scrawny partner’s ass.”  The THRUSH head downed the rest of his drink.  “Those two cost me a promotion and seven agents this year.  If there were any justice in the world, they would be delivered to me here and now.”

Napoleon glanced over to where Illya was skillfully avoiding the groping hands of some women and shoving trinkets into those frisky hands instead. The poor man was destined to be black and blue tomorrow. 

“Santa will see what he can do, little boy.” Napoleon dropped a candy cane into the man’s glass and Hatch laughed.

“Thanks, old man.” He pounded Napoleon’s back and Napoleon quickly grabbed for his red hat and beard.  It would not be healthy to suddenly be unmasked here and now.  “Merry Christmas.”

“And to all a good night.” He caught Illya’s eye and jerked his head, the desperation in the gesture making the meaning clear.

Illya met him by the door. “Do you know what they are giving out to their agents as Christmas gifts?  Solid gold watches.”

“Hm, that’s generous even by THRUSH’s standards.” Napoleon paused and made a face.  “How do you know this?”

“Heard a couple complaining – Another Christmas, another gold watch that’s going to turn my wrist green.”   Illya hid his smile as he looked back towards the crowd.  “About time to make our departure?”

“Before we are recognized and all hell breaks loose?”

                                                                                ****

Napoleon pressed his ear against the closet door and made a shushing gesture with his hand.

“Stand by, UNCLE,” Illya whispered. He looked around for a weapon as the doorknob rattled.

“It’s locked, boss! You want me to break it down?”

“No, keep looking. The way they were running, they are probably down to the street level by now.”

The voices faded and Illya resumed speaking.

“Kuryakin here. We have infiltrated a THRUSH gathering and need back up.”

“State your location, agent.” The voice was automatic.  No flirting or messing about with this sort of a situation. 

“The St. Regis on Fifth.”

“Back up is on their way. HQ out.”

“Well, that was… efficient,” Napoleon muttered. “What did you do to annoy her?”

“No idea.” Illya tucked the pen back into the waistband of his tights.  “Any idea on how we get out of here?”

“None.” Napoleon took off his fake beard and hat and fanned himself with them.  “If I were THRUSH, I would be assuming that we’d managed to make a call to home and would be heading out for greener pastures.  You want to make a break for it?”

“What’s that on your hat?” Illya reached for it. 

“Holly, I think.”

“No, it’s mistletoe.”

“That explains it.” At the party, a THRUSH wife had decided to land a big kiss on Santa, unmasking Napoleon in the process.  Whether it was his wife kissing a decidedly more handsome man, the knowledge that UNCLE had been under their noses for who-knew-how-long or a lack of Christmas spirit, the entire party had descended upon them.

They had barely escaped with their hides intact and Napoleon had darted into the closest janitorial closet he could pick the lock for. He reasoned that THRUSH would expect them to try to escape, not linger behind.

“Now what do we do?”  

“Considering how we are dressed, let’s find another holiday party to infiltrate.”

                                                                                *****

Napoleon limped into his apartment, not even bothering to see if Illya was following. He could hear the tired dragging feet behind him.

“It seemed like such a good idea at the time,” he repeated again, as if trying to convince himself as he struggled out of the Santa coat and padding.

“You already said that.” Illya shrugged off the overcoat he’d ‘borrowed’ on his way out of the hotel.  In the apartment, the bright red and green outfit looked dim and shabby.  That could also have had something to do with the hundred children he had crawling all over him.  “You picked the wrong party.”

“You already said that.”

“Is it too late for me to go back on medical leave?” Illya sat to massage his feet.  “I feel like I’ve been dragged behind a school bus.”

Now down to his underwear, Napoleon spread his arms to the sky and sighed. “It’s good to be cool again.  And, yes, it is.  You are stuck between a rock and field work.  Besides they were just a bunch of kids.”

“I think I preferred THRUSH. At least I knew that they would be shooting at me and not trying to grind my pri--

“Illya!”

Illya scowled. “You should let me finish… my pride into the ground.”

Napoleon walked over to the sofa and collapsed beside Illya. A moment later, there was the pressure of his partner leaning against him.  It wasn’t sexual, it was merely connecting. For what seemed like a long time, they just sat there.

“We should eat.” It wasn’t a surprise that this came from Illya.

“Are you cooking?”

“No, but I can dial.”

“It’s Christmas Eve, Illya.”

“Bet Wu Fong’s is delivering.”

“I never bet with you when it involves food. Why don’t you call and I’ll grab a shower… unless you want to shower first?”

“Be my guest. It’s going to take me that long to peel off these tights.  Why women put themselves through this torture every day is beyond me.”

“It’s all for us.” Then Napoleon grinned.  “Well, not anymore for us, but you know what I mean.”

“I do.”

Napoleon got up successfully after two attempts and headed for his bedroom and its adjoining bathroom. The water was hot and the pressure good.  He let the water soothe his tired muscles and wash away his melancholy thoughts.  This was probably the beginning of the end.  Tomorrow, they would no doubt pack up Illya’s belongings and drag them back to the studio they’d been originally crammed into.  Napoleon felt his lower back spasm at the thought of lugging all those books up three flights of narrow stairs.

“It should be here in about ten minutes,” Illya shouted through the partially open bathroom door.

“Okay. I’m getting out now.”  He stepped out of the tub and pulled on his favorite old blue robe.  Illya was there a minute later, his face grim.

“What’s wrong?”

“Tights chafe and in all the wrong spots,” he muttered and Napoleon repressed a smile.

“After you get out of the shower, there’s some baby powder under the sink. That should help.”

“Should I even ask why you have baby powder?”

“Leftover from my earlier days of acting. Tights do chafe.”

Napoleon had just gotten his dressing gown on when the doorbell chimed and he walked quickly across the short distance to peer out. He’d learned from experience that you don’t just yank open a door and he had the scars to prove it.  He turned out all the lights except for the Christmas tree and studied the person before deciding he was who he said he was.  Even so, Napoleon slipped his weapon into his dressing gown’s pocket and eased the door open.

“Yes?”

“You want food?” The delivery guy was obviously not in a good mood.

“Yes.” Napoleon let him in and quickly closed the door.

“Twenty seven fifty, without tip.”

The reason Illya let Napoleon go first became very clear to him and he begrudgingly got his wallet.

Sending the man off with his money and a sizable tip, Napoleon locked the door and carried the food to his kitchen. He rummaged around for plates and serving utensils, knowing that they would both use chopsticks to eat with.

Illya appeared, toweling off his hair. “Is that dinner?”

“Yes.”

“Excellent. I’m starved.”

“I can tell from the sheer volume.” He carried everything to the living room and set it up on the coffee table while Illya made a fire.  He was wearing just the bottoms of his pajamas and his recent injuries stood out beet red on his skin. Napoleon looked away hastily when Illya suddenly met his eyes.

He sat and Napoleon started dishing out food. “I’m fine, Napoleon.  It’s just from the shower.”

“I know.”

“Good. So no lectures.”  Illya dug in and for a time, they merely ate and watched the fire by the light of the Christmas tree.

Napoleon excused himself and retrieved some sake and glasses from his wet bar. He poured it and offered one to Illya.  “ _Kampai_.”

“ _Nostrovia_.”  Illya downed his and poured another.  “So what was the final count?”

“I believe Mr. Waverly said twenty lower level agents and five of the top bosses. He’s very pleased. Even gave us the next two days off.”

“Really? I can’t remember when I’ve had Christmas off.”

“That’s because you usually volunteer to work it.”

“Yes, but this year, I have other plans. Excuse me.”  Illya stood and disappeared into the vicinity of the spare bedroom.  He reappeared carrying a small box.  Without any fanfare, he tossed it to his partner.  “There you go.  Merry Christmas.”

“Aren’t you pushing the envelope a bit? We still have… oh, nearly thirty minutes.”

“In thirty minutes, I intend to be in bed.”

“Oh?” Napoleon grinned and waggled his eyebrows.  “With anyone I know?”

“Possibly in the biblical sense. Open it.”

Napoleon shook the package, grinning at Illya’s impatience. With exaggerated care, he carefully undid the wrapping paper.

“It’s a present, Napoleon, not a bomb. You don’t have to worry about it exploding on you.”

“Considering who gave it to me, I figured extra caution wouldn’t be misplaced.” He got the paper off and opened the box.  “It’s a key.”

“I know it’s a key, Napoleon. I’m the one who put it in the package.”

Napoleon held it up. It looked vaguely familiar.  “What is it a key for?”

“It’s my apartment key.” Napoleon felt Illya watching him closely.

“I have a key to your apartment, Illya. We exchanged keys years ago.”

“Yes, but this is my key,” Illya tried again.

“You’ve lost me.”

“I know we never actually discussed this and I am hoping that I am not misreading the situation, but that is **my** key.  I’m releasing my apartment on the thirty first.”

“You’re renegotiating your lease?”

“I’m giving it up.” Illya got an impish little boy look.  “I was sort of hoping I could stay on here.”

“What?” Napoleon’s jaw dropped.  “I mean, of course.  If you want… I don’t want you to feel pressured, but, yes, of course, yes.”  Napoleon abandoned the key and kissed Illya, relishing the flavor of Chow Mein and sake in Illya’s mouth.  “I was so afraid…”

“I know. I wasn’t sure it would work at first, but we seem to be a good fit… both at the office and home.”  Napoleon glanced over at the festive tree.  “I could probably find yours if you are so inclined.”

Illya’s hand dropped to the waistband of Napoleon’s pajama bottoms. “I’ve got other plans, if you don’t mind.”

“Are you sure?”

“Well, just about everything I own and care about is here, so yes, I’m sure.”

“I meant about your chaffing issue.”

“What chaffing issue?” Illya’s hands were working now, drawing Napoleon’s penis from its prison.  He leaned down and kissed the head, rubbing his lips against the pre-seminal fluid.  “Besides, I hear it’s nothing compared to rug burn.  Let’s find out.”

And they did just that for several hours to come and if Santa did pop in during the wee hours of Christmas morning, he would have found two people in front of the softly glowing Christmas tree, limbs, hearts, and souls happily entwined.

 


End file.
